Don’t Lift the Blanket

At the wee hour of 4am I awoke (as I am wont to do) and then lay there in bed staring. When you have major depression and anxiety, the 4am-stare is something you come to dread, because that’s when your brain revs up and feeds every anxiety it possibly can into your heart. It’s like Mister McFeeley, if Mister McFeeley were always delivering soul-destroying terror and sadness. Oh, you didn’t want terror and sadness? WELL YOU’LL HAVE TO DEAL. BYE.

So naturally my next thought was to start a blog documenting what it’s like to circle the drain of depression and anxiety while trying to pretend you’ve got everything together as a mothering creature. (I’ve blogged since 2003. No one ever reads my blogs. And it actually will be a GOOD thing if no one ever reads this one, because it’s not going to be pleasant at all.)

So the first step in starting a blog is choosing a platform. I’ve used Dreamwidth (which is like the granola-happy-family of blog platform developers. I love them so I don’t want to post my dark-hearted schlit on their site.) Livejournal is basically held hostage at random times by Russian thugs. (Keep on keepin’ on, Russian liberalization bloggers.) So hey — WordPress!

WordPress is a profit-driven blogging platform. No faulting them for that, this is the 21st century and if you’re not making profit you’re a corpse on the side of the road. The themes are pricey. That being said, they could offer a few more free options for black souled depression mommy blogs. Every theme sample (“Delight!” “I dip my toes in the sand!” “FOREVER: OUR MARRIAGE!”) made me throw up in my mouth a little.

I chose the one with the big tattooed guy pulling his hair up into a ponytail because I’m on my third cup of coffee and I don’t have time for that “I dip my toes in the sand lala la I’m delighted with trees!” junk. Who reads those blogs? I will have to change the image of course.

There. That is the image of a caretaker holding a baby so it can pose for a photo. It might be the mother under there; it might be a nanny. It might be a photographer’s assistant. It also might sum up pretty much my life as a mother.  Look at my children, don’t look at me. Please don’t let me screw them up too much, but don’t take me away from them, either. And dear God please don’t lift the blanket.

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